


Darling, Dearest

by absolutelyCancerous (cal1brations)



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Bringing Home Baby, Domestic, F/M, daddy Soul, mama Maka, no really it's just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cal1brations/pseuds/absolutelyCancerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Wanna hold her, Daddy?”</p>
<p>He’s never held a baby before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling, Dearest

Maka’s carrying a brand new addition against her shoulder as Soul opens the door for her to step inside the house.

Their daughter—a tiny thing she is, only about a week old!—is hardly awake and alert, but Maka talks to the little pink-blanketed bundle in her arms as she walks around the house, like something surely must have changed here, too, if their lives changed so drastically over the course of a week.

She mumbles things like “welcome home, honey” and “look, this is your room!” while she steps around, baby cradled close to her chest as she makes her way into the nursery, with pale yellow walls that make Soul think of spring mornings and their old apartment’s living room—he thinks the latter has a good hand in why they picked this exact shade.

Maka sits down in the rocker n the corner (a piece gifted by Spirit, in a way that was amazingly un-childish and more like an actual father-daughter moment, as the rocker had apparently been her mother’s) because baby is starting to worm to life and make those little hiccup cries that mean she would like to be fed, please.

Soul’s not entirely sure why he excuses himself while Maka breastfeeds (he thinks it’s because it’s less of a sexual thing and more of a private thing that he, as a man, does not particularly have the born right to intrude on) to start sorting her stuff; things that need to be washed, things that need to be tossed, things that need to be put somewhere-he’s-not-sure-of-yet. He does this in the living room, so he can sit and work, just because he doesn’t feel like lugging all this crap into the bedrooms or where said things actually belong—he’s lazy, he’s tired, he’s been dealing with sleeping in a goddamn chair most evenings and getting used to calling this thing they’ve taken home _his daughter_.

Because it’s weird! Because, only a week or so ago, it was still only him and Maka—a baby seemed like a dream, like an inside joke, not a reality he’d be caught in the middle of. But, sure enough, last Thursday morning Soul awoke to not Maka wiggling her way to sit up in bed and stretch, but her doing those small little breathing exercises, jerking his shoulder and telling him to get his keys, they need to leave, _now_.

And, after having his wife nearly drive out hearing in his right ear and some bruising from her grip on his hand, he was presented with a shining pair of surgical scissors, man in scrubs pointing and asking if he’d like to cut the cord. Soul did, not because he could really pick, but because it was more of an instinct than a choice, like tucking back his hair, or brushing his teeth.

Not that he wasn’t happy with the birth of his daughter--he’s _thrilled_ , currently! He likes his bundle of a baby girl, darling with wide blue-gray eyes (that will more than likely get darker in a few more weeks, as the doctor said) and hands that can’t even measure up to his one finger in length. Maka held her most of the time (all of the time) in the hospital, smiling and crying, cooing and wailing over her little baby girl.

“How _beautiful_ is she, Soul?” Maka asks, over and over and over, because it’s like she literally cannot believe how stunning her own child actually is.

And, every single time, Soul only cracks a smile and answers, “ _So_ beautiful. Just like her Mama.”

She _still_ asks it. Asks it, in fact, when she comes into the room with the baby in her arms, sitting next to him on the sofa to watch him sort her things; she feels a little guilty, he’s done so terribly much for her in the past months, she’ll never be able to repay him for it.

He’s in the middle of folding one of Maka’s clean nightshirts when there’s a little hand patting on his upper arm, and a little giggle out of his wife.

“Wanna hold her, Daddy?”

He’s never held a baby before.

So, he stops in folding, sits back a little and turns to face Maka a little more—it makes his heart melt very uncool-like when he sees his baby girl cocking her head to look at him, mouth agape and her little hands--!

“Here, make your arms like—“ Maka gets the baby in one arm before she reaches out to sets his own arms up to hold her, “this. She’s really little, so not too wide.”

Soul waits nervously as Maka smiles at the little girl, holding her up to unlatch her from her shirt and gently places her in Soul’s waiting arms, moving his arms around the little bundle of a girl to make her safe and secure, and make Soul feel comfortable with providing such for his daughter.

“See? Just hold her close—here, make it so she can tuck against your shoulder—yeah, like that!” Maka’s smiling, hoping he’s okay, hoping he’s really not as scared as he looks because yes, it’s a big adjustment but she _needs_ him to be okay with it, because _she wants more of these_ , wants a big family for them both to love and protect and enjoy.

Soul doesn’t say anything for a long while, instead just listens to his daughter’s breath, feels her little heartbeat and the slow movements she makes as she nestles against him tiredly, settling for a nap. His silence makes Maka fear the worst, and she wrings her hands a little as she watches him.

“…What’s the matter?” She whispers, not only because the baby is asleep, but because Soul isn’t even looking at her, he’s got his eyes closed, almost like he’s in pain.

She is answered with silence, and Maka almost starts to break down, because she doesn’t really know how to handle (never thought she’d have to handle) her husband hating their child, or being disinterested with his family.

But, he eventually speaks, and the wavering of his voice makes her nearly _gape_ at him, but she smiles when she sees the smile on his face in accompaniment.

“She’s so _small_ ,” he tells her in bewilderment, and Maka’s grinning in absolute, unimaginable delight when she sees Soul hold the baby just that little bit tighter, bringing her that little bit closer to him and his heart.

“Do you like her?” Again, a whisper from her nervous throat.

Soul leans over, kisses the corner of Maka’s lips and moves a little so he can see his precious daughter’s face, her chubby cheeks and thin lips and the face that looks _so much like her mother’s_ , he thinks he might **die** pondering how adorable she’ll be when she’s older.

“I _love_ her,” Soul mumbles, rubbing a thumb against one warm little cheek. He’s choked up, it’s a little bit cute, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly—cool guys don’t cry, even if it _is_ in happiness. But, his eyes look glassy, anyways, when he looks at Maka and smiles, really smiles at her.

“Thank you. So much.”

She laughs, tearful and delighted, and kisses his cheek, thanking _him_ instead.


End file.
